The List
The database had over 50,000 records. Males, 62-70, middle-class zip codes, homeowners. The kind who’d be thinking about retirement.
She dialed the number again after having left a voicemail. Saturday morning, but these old guys were up early anyway. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, is this Eric?” She put on her most kind professional voice. Concern about managing his Social Security benefits. Just need a bit more information.
But something felt off. He was on speaker. Background noise. Like he was multitasking.
When she mentioned the retirement application, he went quiet.
“Email me the paperwork. I don’t discuss finances over the phone.”
Classic elderly paranoia. Fine. The email would seal it—official seal, correct fonts, bureaucratic language. The CMS-L564 always worked.
Send.
Three days of silence. Then he called back.
Finally.
——
The voicemail was perfect. Professional tone, government terminology, just the right amount of urgency.
When the old man finally answered her repeated calls, she launched into her script. Birth certificate, tax records, the usual harvest. But he cut her off.
“Email me the paperwork. I don’t discuss finances over the phone.”
Fine. The email would seal it—official letterhead, forms, deadlines.
Three days later, her phone rang.
“This is regarding my retirement application. I’ve filled out the CMS-L564 form. Where should I send it?”
She brightened. Finally. “You can fax it to 833-914-1949, or—”
“I’ve reviewed everything carefully.”
Something shifted in his tone.
“I’m particularly interested in the CMS-L564 form. Creative work.”
Something in his tone made her pause.
“The fax number you provided traces to a honeypot server I set up. Every document sent there gets logged with full metadata. The email headers were sloppy—your real IP leaked through the relay.”
Her blood went cold.
“Reverse image search on your fake letterhead led me to the template source. Cross-referenced the phone numbers with telecom databases. Built a nice little profile of your operation.”
She heard typing in the background.
Click.
Outside her window, three unmarked sedans approached.